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“Watching you.” Lying on my back, I reach for her. “C’mere.”
She moves around and kneels next to me. Plucking a flower from the wreath in her hair, she says, “Want some nectar?”
“Thought you’d never offer.”
The flower is between her fingers when she starts to gently pull it away from the stem. I lift to rest on my elbows and watch as a satisfied smile appears. But when she offers the nectar to me, I say, “You taste it first, and then I’ll taste you.”
My favorite pink—Delilah blush—covers her cheeks. She has my full attention as I watch the nectar touch her tongue. Then she teases, her eyes on me, her lips tantalizing. I sit the rest of the way up and run my hand through the back of her hair. “My honeysuckle.” I kiss her, tasting her honey mixed with the flower’s sweetness.
. . . The screech of the screen door cuts through the mire of my thoughts. “Are you hungry?” my mom calls.
“Sure am.”
“C’mon. I made eggs and bacon.”
I add the front steps to my list. They need replacing before I leave again. Inside, I wash my hands and am told to sit at the table. I’m served a glass of apple juice. It’s just like old times, which makes me smile. I could really use a cup of coffee but don’t ask for it. My mom wants to serve her son, and I’m happy to play that part for a few days.
She sits down after setting a plate in front of me. I take a big bite and then look up. “Are you not eating?”
“I ate while I was cooking.” She smiles, but I recognize that look in her eyes. It’s the one that’s usually followed by a compliment that I probably don’t deserve, like how proud she is of me or how handsome I’ve become. Mom stuff. I’d hate for her to know who I really am on the inside. Elite security isn’t usually a parents’ chosen profession for their kid, considering the dangers of it.
I’m about to take another bite, but it’s time we talk. I set my fork down and swallow some juice. “Let’s do this so we can get past it.”
She’s always direct. I like that. I’ve been called direct, and I guess I got it from her. “Are you going to see her?”
Okay, not where I thought this was going. “You want me to drive over to the farm and just walk up those steps like I have business there? Mom, she’s married.”
“She’s not married.”
I hear the words, but they don’t make sense. “What are you talking about?”
Resting her arms on the table, she sighs. “She’s not married, Jason.”
“But you told me—”
“Well,” she starts while fiddling with the loose threads of the placemat, “she was married then. Now she’s not.”
I get up for coffee. Apple juice isn’t strong enough for this conversation. If it weren’t seven fifteen in the morning, I’d be filling this mug with whiskey. With my back to her, I can feel the tension behind me as I fill the mug with hot coffee. I look back over my shoulder. “They’re separated?”
“Divorced.”
I lean on the counter, my palms pressing into the tile as I stare down at the stained grout. Mentally, I add this to the list of things to fix, right after I add Delilah Noelle. I don’t think that can be fixed by a visit to the hardware store, but it’s tempting to find out.
She says, “Finalized two months back. They separated more than a year ago. She’s out on that farm by herself again. Cole moved across town to a rental behind The BBQ Shack.”
“Why are you telling me this? I’m not going to be here long enough to spend my time thinking about the past.”
“I think you already are. I also think she might be the reason for this spontaneous visit.”
“She’s not.” Turning to face her, I cross my arms defiantly over my chest and lean my ass against the counter. “I thought she was married.”
My mom shrugs. “Call it kismet. I think something inside you was unsettled, and we both know the best way to get settled is to visit the one that caused the uproar in the first place.”
“I’m not visiting her. We left on bad terms.” That’s not how it went down. She left me. She left me with no explanation. But I’m not one to throw someone under the bus.
“You left on bad terms. She’s been here all along, and if I know her at all, which I feel I know her pretty well after all these years, I think she’s been waiting for you to return.”
“She was married, Mom. The very definition says she wasn’t waiting for me, so why fill my head with this nonsense? We both know I won’t be here long, and adding that crazy back into my life won’t turn out well for anyone.”
